“That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts. It will take at least three weeks. A brief calm succeeded. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side.
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